


greys match your heart

by corollary



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-02
Updated: 2010-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corollary/pseuds/corollary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuzu can save Haru from the quiet, if Haru lets herself be saved. Written for the areyougame comm on DW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	greys match your heart

**Author's Note:**

> Was unsure of the DeSu MC's fanon name, so called him Akira.
> 
> Title taken from me bastardising a line from an Anberlin song.

Gin opens up the bar for them--"it's hot," he warns, smiling that smile that's like a waning moon, bright but subdued all at once, "but it's still cooler than anywhere else."

Akira and Atsuro immediately sequester themselves into a single corner, one circumspect and the other chatty. Yuzu doesn't bother to join them or try to understand their conversation--she's heard enough about COMPs and clients and demon summoning whatevers, thank you very much, and two day old headache has yet to go away.

"Got anything to drink?" she asks Gin, who's making a show of cleaning down the counter; a semblance of normality, maybe, or clinging to final vestiges of routine and clarity. He nods, smiles in that _way_ of his, and disappears into the back.

Yuzu notices Haru a second later -- it's still like floating, even now, being in the same space as the singer; floating and flying, elevation and the wing of fate. She tries to be mild, subdued (_cool like Haru_, she can't quite admit to herself) and doesn't bound up to the table. She glides, tries not to swagger, and it works even though her shoes are pooled to the bottom with sweat and she probably still smells like the spoiled sushi she ate this afternoon. "Hey, Haru!"

It doesn't seem like Haru notices her at first. Her fingers are moving silently over ivory keys, her mouth shaping soundless words so prettily. Finally, the singer smiles, her lips curling. "Hey. Yuzu, yeah?"

"Yes!" Yuzu chirps, clapping her hands together for gladness. "Are you, uh, writing a song?"

"No," Haru says, her voice drawing out over the words like a caress. "No, this is just... It's nothing."

Yuzu sits down, uninvited. "You shouldn't say that about your work." She knows she sounds childish but doesn't care, her lips jutting out with the force of her pout. "If it is a song, I'd love to hear it."

A laugh flies loose from Haru's lips, sharp and sweet, like the slip of a knife. "Yeah, you would, wouldn't you?" It should come off as mean but doesn't, not when Haru is peering at her underneath her sparse fringe with clear, unclouded eyes--it's almost like interest, curiousity, and Yuzu finds herself flushing.

"My friend--my bandmate--taught it to me," Haru continues, when Yuzu says nothing. "I mean, she tried. Before." Her hands curl and then uncurl across the ivory keys, reflexive and pained. Her words are stilted, her voice raw. "I thought it was stupid, didn't want to listen."

There's a moment where Haru's expression cracks, lines forming at and underneath her eyes and her lips going pale as she presses them together. The moment passes and the chill of her goes along the length of her neck, into the curve of her shoulders, understated and lovely.

Haru presses a hand to her mouth, but a smile is visible underneath it.

"You don't need to pretend like you wanna listen to me, you know." She tilts her chin upward, toward the opposite corner where Akira and Atsuro are. "You should be with your friends. Don't know what might happen in a minute."

"I'm not pretending," Yuzu says, trying (and failing) to keep her voice steady. "Anyway, they--I slow them down."

Haru's brows disappear underneath her fringe, her brow lining with the movement.

All at once, Yuzu wonders what it would be like to touch and learn the creases of Haru's skin.

"All right, whatever," Haru says. Her voice breaks the spell of the moment but Yuzu is still all too aware of Haru's scent, cinnamon and sweat and Junes brand soap. The singer's throat moves with her words, melodic and resigned and trembling. But there's a smile there too, and so brief Yuzu isn't sure if she imagined it—"Thanks."

Drawing in her strength with one breath, Haru begins to play.

Later—and it's a long later, filled with fear and little emotions she can't name, because she's more eloquent when she's not living in terror—later, they save Haru, and save her again, because the one that Haru really needed to be saved from is herself.

Yuzu curls down next to Haru, who makes a noise and presses her lips to the younger girl's shoulder, and Yuzu can feel the smile in it.

It's gotten late and it's gotten worse, but right here, in a tangle of arms and lips and shivers despite the heat, Yuzu isn't scared at all.


End file.
